


I Prefer All Hallows Eve

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Tale of Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: John attends a Halloween party as himself. He can't be anyone else.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts), [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts), [PatPrecieux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/gifts).



> Thank you for helping me keep my head above water.

John Watson stood at the bottom of the seventeen stairs staring into the middle distance. A party on Halloween was a mistake; he knew that even before he walked out the door. He rarely attended parties before, but now-

“Ready to go, John?” Mrs Hudson called from her doorway. “Oh, where is your costume?” 

John looked down at himself. “This is my costume. I’m going as myself. Can’t be anyone else.”

Mrs Hudson joined him, her hand on his arm. “I understand, dear.  
It’s good that you’re getting out, at least for a bit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” 

“Dr Hooper and that nice Detective Inspector will be there. Oh, John, promise you’ll try to have a good time.”

John sighed. “Mrs Hudson.”

“Just try.”

John slowly shook his head. “It’s not the same, not without-.” His voice broke, unable to say the name that was always in his mind and heart and on his lips in the night hours. “Even though he sneered at the mention of any holidays-“ John closed his eyes. “It will never be the same again.”

“I know, John. It’s still too soon, but time will heal.”

John kissed her cheek and hugged her. “I’m off.”

“A lot of strange people will be out tonight. Be careful, dear, I can’t lose you, too.”

John nodded sadly. “I won’t be late and I will be careful. Go inside now and lock your door. Goodnight.”

After the street door clicked shut behind him, John set off at a leisurely pace toward the Baker Street tube station. He was in no hurry to arrive early or fashionable late at the Great Scotland Yard Hotel. A brief appearance was all he planned, all he could manage.

The tube was busy, costumed revelers already carrying on. He took the first empty seat, turning away from them, and focused on a spot on the floor. Staring at nothing seemed to be the safest thing to do at that moment. Non-engagement. 

Halfway through the travel time, his very good soldier instincts alerted him to something not just right. An icy spike shot up his back, raising the hair at his nape. At once John recognized it for what it was. 

He was being watched.

Adjusting his posture and raising a hand to his mouth as though covering a yawn, he casually shifted his gaze from person to person as if enjoying the crazy antics. Though costumed, very few wore masks. Of the few who did, John’s gaze returned again and again to only one individual seated at the far end of the carriage. 

A dark red robe with a massive hood obscured any hope of an identity, but if he had to guess- 

_I never guess. Yes you do._

As the announcement sounded for his stop, and interrupted his inner dialogue, he looked away for an instant to push himself to his feet. When he looked back, the seat previously held by the robed individual was empty as was the platform when John disembarked. He swept the area with his gaze before continuing on his way to the street, ever mindful of his safety as he began the seven minute walk to the hotel.

Moments later John once again sensed eyes on him. Instantly on guard and hyper-aware of his surroundings, he moved away from the shadows and closer to the kerb, several times stepping off the pavement for an expanded view. When a footfall sounded too close, he cocked his head, expecting more. When none came, he increased his pace as he neared the entrance. Curling his fingers around the handle, some sense or intuition prodded him to take a last look over his shoulder. Just beyond the corner of the building, the robed figure slipped into the shadows.

Long gone and never again were the days when John followed without question as Sherlock chased after a suspect. He took one last look before stepping inside. 

_Long gone and never again._

***

John found the venue easily enough. Thankfully, this gathering was more subdued than the group on the tube, but it was still early. Watching from the door and again regretting he’d accepted the invitation, he turned to leave, but before he could make his escape he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“John.”

He turned to encounter a familiar face.

“Greg.”

“I’m glad you’re here. Been a while. It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“Good, much better.” He relaxed a bit when Greg accepted his lie.

_Sherlock would have known it was a lie._

“I’ve missed our pub nights. Think we could meet again sometime soon?”

“I-I don’t know if that’s such a good idea right now, Greg.” 

“Right,” Greg acknowledged with a few nods of his head. “Okay then. Maybe one day. Whenever you’re ready.”

_I’ll never be ready. Those days are gone. Just like-_

John looked at Greg for a few seconds, then dropped his gaze to his hands. “I’m sorry, Greg, I never should have come here.”

“John? I’m so glad you came.” Molly greeted him with a hug.

John willed himself not to flinch at her sudden appearance. Embarrassed, he stepped back from her embrace, watched the smile fade from her lips.

“This was a mistake, I can’t be here,” John said, raising his gaze to meet hers. “I’m sorry.” 

“John, it’s all right. We understand.” Molly’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes shiny with tears.

He started to apologise again, but his focus was drawn suddenly to a fast-moving red phantom moving across the back of the room. Instinct canceled caution for the first time in two years. Without a word of goodbye, John sprinted across the room to follow, probably leaving them staring after him.

_I said dangerous and here you are._

His heart skipped, then raced in his chest.

***

John slipped through the door before it closed and into a short corridor leading to an unknown point. He followed it until it ended in either a left or right turn, then hesitated, pressing himself flat against the wall before inching forward just enough to gain line of sight. It was deserted in both directions, a solid door at either end.

He realised too late that stepping into the corridor and glancing to his right was the wrong choice. A red-robed arm snaked out from his left and circled his neck. John struggled, but the hold didn’t tighten as if to cause harm. 

“You are being followed,” a ragged voice sounded against his ear.

“No Shite, Sherlock.” The sarcastic retort was out of his mouth before John realised what he had said or why. “You were on the tube. And in the shadows outside the hotel entrance. And now here, at the party. Why?” 

A hand clamped over his mouth, effectively silenced him, and pulled him through a narrow door. Seconds later the sound of running footsteps passed by and disappeared through another door farther on.

“We are not safe here. We have to go back toward the party.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, so you can just bugger off.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.”

John’s breath caught in his throat but there was little time to analyse as he was hustled back to the corridor. 

“We can’t dawdle. We have to go now. I have to get you to a safe house.”

“Do you know Mycroft Holmes?” 

“Later.”

“Am I being kidnapped..again? ‘Cause that is so two years ago”

“No, and do shut up.”

With each step John’s thoughts became more muddled, his limbs unreasonably shaky. He stumbled, saved only by a strong hand circling his bicep. 

“No matter what happens, keep moving. Back to the party and out the front door.”

_Impossible? Improbable? Could it be the simple truth? Or was it one of Mycroft’s idiotic plans to-? To what?_

***

The chill air struck John in the face, reviving him a bit as he was pulled along, this time by his hand as his thoughts of escape dissipated like smoke.

“Do keep up.”

Those and the previous words tripped a memory in the deep recesses of his mind, but before he could make sense of them, their pace quickened into a run. His brain felt muddled, thick as treacle as he struggled to keep up. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another solid step, his companion, rescuer, captor led him around a corner and into a dark alley. 

“Where are we going?” 

_And why do I trust you?_

_“A safe place.”_

__

__

Pushed against a rusted old door with a protective arm over his shoulder and across his chest, John watched as one long finger quickly rocked a brick beside the door until it came loose and offered up a key.

“Down here,” someone called from not far away.

John felt the key pressed into his hand as the robe came around him, to make them less visible in the shadows. The key slipped into the lock without a sound; he hoped the door would follow suit.

Pushing the door just enough to allow them inside, the monk as John now thought of him, pushed him inside and closed the door gently, turning several dead bolts just seconds before thundering, running footsteps passed the door.

“Why are we running from those people and why am I in danger?” 

“Because, John,” he said, pushing back the hood, “they know I’m not dead and that makes you a target..again.”

***

The voice was different, tired and raw, not the warm, liquid baritone he remembered. The beautiful face was gaunt, exhaustion etched deep in the bruises beneath his incredible eyes. John gaze lingered on the scars, undoubtedly the result of torture on his slender neck, and possible damage to his vocal chords.

“John?”

By the time he gathered himself and shook off his shock, Sherlock had adopted a guarded posture. He should have been angry, but John had no emotional strength to find it.

With a determined step, John closed the distance between them and embraced his best friend. Sherlock’s arms came around him then, their reunion silent, each man trembling as they held fast to one another.

It was not a time for whys and hows. That would come later, much later. John stepped back just enough to gaze up into Sherlock’s tired eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I am now that we’re together.”

John’s eyes filled and overflowed without warning. 

“I’ve missed you, too, John.”

At a loss for something more to say, John fell back on old humour. “Happy Halloween?”

“Is it Halloween? I prefer All Hallows Eve. ‘In the Old Religion they call it Samhain.* It’s a night when the walls between the worlds grow thin and the spirits of the Underworld walk the earth. A night of masks and balefires when anything is possible and nothing is quite as it seems.’”**

“Of course you would prefer it, but you’re not a spirit, not anymore.” John smiled a soft smile of relief that Sherlock was safe. He swiped at his tears as he stepped back. 

“So what do we do now?” 

“Wait.”

“For?”

“Mycroft,” they said in unison.

“No worries, then?”

“Not one, John. We have everything we need here. Enough for a week. Once Mycroft gets word, if he hasn’t already, he’ll set things in motion. When it’s safe for us, he’ll send a text. To your phone. I don’t have one at the moment.”

“And then?”

“Goldfish.”

“What?”

“The code word, John, do keep up.”

“I’ve missed this, I think.”

“What?”

“Being called an idiot, even if it is subtext.”

“You are no such thing, John Hamish Watson,” Sherlock whispered against his temple. 

John followed, as he always did, and always would.

“Oh,” Sherlock said, turning back suddenly to face him.

“What?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been remiss for quite a long time, John.”

“How so?”

“I should have told you long before now that I love you.”

John was certain his smile lit up the whole room.

“No, that’s not quite right,” he said shaking his head and turning back to face John.

John’s smile slipped for a heart-stopping moment. 

“I’ve loved you from the first moment I met you. At this moment, I realise that I am in love with you.”

John inhaled deeply and slowly released his breath. “I love you with all my heart, Sherlock. Always have, always will.”

His hand in Sherlock’s was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Come along, I’ll give you the tour, oh, and perhaps we can celebrate Halloween.”

“You don’t do celebrations, Sherlock, not Christmas, not your birthday or mine..”

“It’s different now, John. I have someone I love to share it with.”

“Oh.”

When Sherlock leaned in to kiss him gently, John might have swooned a bit. “I hope you’re brother has to quell a last minute uprising, just a little one, no casualties.”

Sherlock chuckled, resting an arm across his shoulders.

Yeah, he definitely swooned for more than a moment.

“Happy Halloween, John,” Sherlock chortled, leading him astray.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another read, it felt unfinished, and thanks to PatPrecieux, this chapter was created to tie up some loose ends with love.

Morning found them wrapped around each other, warm, safe and content beneath a mountain of blankets.

John rolled onto his back and stretched, taking Sherlock with him. Sherlock groaned in protest, burrowing his face into John’s neck.

“Happy day after All Hallows Eve.”

“All Hallows Day, John,” Sherlock purred, John shivered.

“Is that the same as All Saints Day?”

“Same day, I prefer..”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” John felt Sherlock smile against his neck.

“What time is it?”

John retrieved his phone from the minuscule bedside table. He squinted at the screen to bring it in to focus. “Half six.”

Sherlock groaned. “My brother is an early riser. We should expect a text sooner rather than later.”

“Oh. Shite.”

“What?” 

“I have a text from Mrs Hudson. She’s worried that I’m not home in the flat.”

Sherlock snatched the phone and began to text. 

“I want to read it before you send it.”

“Mmm.”

“No, really, Sherlock. You can’t tell her you’re not dead with a text. God, Sherlock, she’s an elderly woman. The shock might-”

“Done.”

“No, I needed to read it first.”

“I told her you’re fine, you met a friend, he invited you to his secret flat and one thing led to another and..”

John giggled. “You are a bad man, Sherlock Holmes.”

“You have no idea,” he mumbled. “Mrs Hudson will be fine.”

After a night’s rest, well, a good part of a night’s rest, Sherlock sounded better, more like John remembered. And although John knew he should be angry and probably would be when they finally discussed the whys and hows, for now, he just wanted to love him, to show Sherlock how happy and pleased he was that he had come back to him.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re thinking too much.”

“Does Mycroft know about this safe house? I mean, could he have installed surveillance without your knowledge?”

“Not to worry, John, my brother doesn’t know everything I do. And with NSY just around the corner, he isn’t likely to peruse this area with any regularity.”

“Does he know you’re in London?”

“Yes.”

“So he’s following the bad guys who are following you and you are undercover to follow me and bring me here.”

“Exactly. Good deduction.”

“And Mrs Hudson? Is she safe?”

“Both of you have had surveillance on you since..that day.”

“Even when I told him to bugger off?”

“Even then, John.”

John pulled in a calming breath. “I need tea. I mean since we showered after, earlier, we don’t need to, I’ll shut up now.”

Sherlock leaned back to grin at him. “Yes, do shut up.”

They dressed side by side, kissing every now and then and giggling like teenagers.

“Tea with toast and jam?” John offered once he’d regained his breath.

“Please.”

***

Sherlock wasn’t certain the exact moment when something inside John’s brain went offline, but he noticed the subtle regression over the course of the morning. 

John withdrew into himself, always a dangerous place for him to be. His emotions had to be in chaos with what little known and unknown facts were swirling around in that funny little head of his, but adding more data in an effort to calm him might overwhelm him instead. 

In the present moment, John, Sherlock’s go-to safety net for all things emotional, could not help. He was on his own in this and he could not fail.

So he watched.

***

It was mid-day before the phone pinged the arrival of a text. John was silent, pretending to read, but hadn’t turned a page in thirty minutes. 

Sherlock swept the phone from the table beside John and turned his back to him.

Four in custody of NSY to be turned over to agents within the hour. W of Homeless bringing your escort. Estimated arrival thirty minutes. Leave at once. Area secure for your departure.-M

Where are you?-S

Quelling a skirmish.-M

Is it over? Our situation, not the skirmish.-S

It is.-M

Who?-S

Admirers of JM. It appears they did not know he was dead. Imagine their chagrin when they find out you will be cleared of all charges within days.-M

Destination?-S

Home with precautionary surveillance until matters settle and the four are secured.-M

Sherlock knew there was more that Mycroft would not divulge, and that suited him. No more secrets to keep. He didn’t like not knowing, but if it was for John, he’d survive it this one time.

Sherlock turned to look at John and didn’t like what he saw in his blank stare.

John will need time. 

I return in a few days and will stop in for a brief visit.-M

Sherlock did not reply to his brother’s barely veiled threat. Pocketing John’s phone, he moved to kneel next to him. 

“John? Time to go soon.” He leaned in to kiss him gently. “Are you all right?”

John looked up at him, his eyes shiny with tears. “Goldfish.” He nodded and let Sherlock pull him to his feet and into his arms.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll be home before the hour’s gone.” 

The soft tapping on the door came not ten minutes later. Sherlock tapped once. 

“Goldfish,” came the expected code word in a suspiciously familiar voice.

Sherlock slowly opened the door to peer out, his foot and knee against the door as a precaution. “Wiggins?”

“Shezza, brought a friend o’ yours.”

“You bastard, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Sherlock grinned at him. “Graham, I’ve missed you.”

Before he could say another word, Lestrade embraced him, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. Over the DI’s shoulder, Sherlock could see that Wiggins enjoyed every minute of his feigned discomfort. It was good to be home among friends that he hadn’t realised he’d had.

Once released, he turned toward John who looked on from a distance as if he wasn’t part of the scene. 

“John?” Lestrade approached carefully. “All right?”

“Hm? Yeah, hello Greg. I’m good. Yeah, fine.”

Sherlock caught Greg’s eye and issued a warning with just a single nod. 

“Well, we should go, I mean, if you’re ready,” Greg said without looking again at John.

Sherlock moved to stand beside John, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

John nodded, pulling on his coat. Sherlock donned the jacket he’d worn beneath his robe. He looked around; the robe was nowhere in sight. Just as well.

As they walked to the door, John suddenly stopped and turned back. “Wait.”

“John?” Sherlock followed him, stopping at the door. John went directly to the bed and from beneath his pillow he retrieved the robe. Holding it against his chest he returned to stand beside Sherlock.

“Let’s go home, John.”

As they stepped out into the alley and secured the door, Sherlock’s heart was heavy with concern.

John, for his part, was shutting down. With no mind palace for solace, his doctor had nowhere to go but the deep shadows.

***

Not wanting to be seen in a police car, Wiggins opted to walk after telling Sherlock he was happy he wasn’t dead. The ride back to Baker Street was silent. On his periphery, Sherlock knew Greg watched them in the mirror and he was a wise enough friend to know that conversation, no matter how inane, was not welcome.

At the kerb in front of the familiar black door, John got out and ambled to the door, but waited there like a lost puppy.

“If you need anything, Sherlock, you know I’m only a text away.”

“Thank you.”

“Sherlock, is John all right?”

With a shake of his head and a glance at John waiting beside the door, he sighed. “I don’t know, but something is stirring.”

“Like I said, if you need anything.”

“I will,” he promised as he walked away.

“Hey.”

Sherlock turned his head to glance at Greg.

“Take care of him.”

“Always, from now until, always.”

John still waited at the door, keys in hand. Sherlock eased them from his grip to open the door and coax him forward with a light touch to his back.

Home at last.

***

“Sherlock, I am very cross with you,” Mrs Hudson called from her door. She approached him as quickly as her hip would allow and pulled him into her arms. “I’ve missed you so, and poor John, he’s just been beside himself with grief,” she whispered so John couldn’t hear.

John took the stairs two at a time, still holding fast to the robe and disappeared into the flat.

“That was you who sent the text to me. John would never divulge such personal information. Shame on you, but I’m so happy to have you back again.”

Sherlock had to admit that he’d missed this dear lady’s sometimes subtle admonishment wrapped in a welcome home.

“Mrs Hudson, who told you I was back?”

“Well, Inspector Lestrade and Dr Hooper came by this morning.”

“Good, that was good.”

“Yes, I might have fainted had you showed up at my door. How did John react when he found out you were alive?”

“I’m sure he’ll have more to say at a later time.”

“I think he might want to punch you in the nose.”

“That would not be unexpected. I have to see to John now, you and I can catch up later?”

“Of course, dear. Whenever you’re ready. And, welcome home.”

The dear lady retraced her steps to her door. “Oh, Sherlock?”

“Be gentle with him. He had a very bad time while you were gone. He was lost for so long. He still is. He needs you, Sherlock. You mustn’t do that to him ever again.” 

She held his gaze longer than was comfortable for him, then simply turned, entered her flat and closed the door.

***

Shaken by Mrs. Hudson’s subtly worded warning, and determined to take it to heart, Sherlock climbed the stairs and quietly entered the flat.

John’s gradual withdrawal since early that morning unsettled Sherlock more than he cared to admit. Curled up in his chair, the robe held against his chest, thinking thoughts only he knew, John once again seemed lost. It hurt his heart to see his doctor and best friend in this state.

He’d hoped there would be more time before the explanations were needed, but it seemed the time had come. John needed to know now and perfect timing or not, Sherlock would be there for him. Heeding Mrs Hudson’s warning to take care of John, he drew in several deep, steadying breaths and stood in front of his doctor with his hands outstretched and palms up.

“John.”

John hesitated only a moment before placing both his hands in Sherlock’s and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“We need to talk, I need to talk, John. And you deserve to hear it.”

Wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders, Sherlock guided him toward the bedroom where they removed their shoes and slipped beneath the duvet. 

Quiet but for the tremors coursing just beneath the surface of his body, John settled in the circle of his arms, head cradled against his shoulder.

They lay there for several minutes before Sherlock realised that the red robe had been left behind in the sitting room. Perhaps it was much like a security blanket to help him ease his way back to accepting that the miracle he’d asked for was granted to him. 

Finally, after gathering his thoughts, Sherlock spoke in a soft, calm voice.

“I’m sorry, John, it was not my intention to hurt you. I had to keep you safe. You had to live. A world without you in it is not a world I wish to contemplate. I’d never had a best friend before, as you know, so I didn’t understand how my death would affect you. I am sorry, John. I will spend the rest of my life endeavoring to make it up to you.”

John edged impossibly closer, lifting his head to gaze at him.

“If you ever have to make that choice again, don’t leave me behind,” John’s tears tumbled down his cheeks. “I will follow you, I will, I have a gun.”

“John.”

“I need you to understand, Sherlock.”

“What don’t I understand? ” 

“A life without you is no life at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> * pronounced ‘saa-wn’ 
> 
> **Beauty and the Beast, 1987, from the episode  
> ‘Masques.’
> 
> A/N: I will always use this quote at this time of year. :)


End file.
